Read Online Front Page Affair by Radha Vatsal - Free Book Online

soaring across the barrier as Kitty watched, her heart in her mouth.
    Her friend looked so precarious, perched there with both legs on one side of the horse—she could slide off or her skirt might get caught in the stirrups. A moment later, she was safely back on the ground.
    â€œSo what’s changed for you at the paper?” Amanda called, exhilarated.
    Kitty gathered her reins, took the jump herself, and rejoined her friend on the path.
    â€œA man was killed at a party I covered.”
    â€œHunter Cole at Bessie Basshor’s do?”
    â€œHow did you know?”
    â€œMama is a great friend of Bessie’s. The only reason we weren’t there was because we had been invited to the Astors’.”
    â€œI’ve been asked to help out with the story. I spent this morning speaking to Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Basshor.”
    Amanda snickered.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with that?” Kitty couldn’t fathom her friend’s response.
    â€œShe was a dance-hall girl.”
    â€œMrs. Basshor?”
    â€œNo, silly. Aimee Cole. I bet she didn’t tell you that, did she? ‘Rising star of burlesque stage marries Hunter Cole, American blue blood and ne’er-do-well.’ It caused quite the scandal.”
    â€œI had no idea.”
    â€œShe was called Fatima, or something of that sort, and performed exotic numbers with a serpent and veils. They say”—Amanda lowered her voice even though there was no one else around—“that she was half-naked when Hunter first set eyes on her.”
    Kitty couldn’t picture timid Aimee dancing on a burlesque stage—or any other stage, for that matter. “You’re teasing me.”
    â€œShe was scantily clad.”
    â€œOh my.” The description didn’t fit the drab woman Kitty had met. They had come to the end of the loop and paused near the turnoff to the stables.
    â€œIf you ask me,” Amanda said, “she’s the one who did it. Fatima Cole strangled Hunter with one of her scarves.”
    â€œHe was shot,” Kitty corrected.
    â€œShot, strangled, what’s the difference? He’s dead. She’s not and is probably waiting to collect what remains of the Cole bounty. Anyway, don’t forget: four o’clock next week at the YWCA on Fifteenth Street.” Amanda blew Kitty a kiss before she trotted off.
    Kitty watched her friend disappear around the curve. Then she gave a pull on her reins and began another round. She knew that Mrs. Vanderwell disapproved of their friendship. Amanda didn’t say as much, but from the hints she dropped, Kitty guessed that Mrs. Vanderwell thought she was a nouveau-riche upstart from the wrong side of town, which was why Amanda never came to Kitty’s place, and only rarely invited Kitty over. Mostly they met at Durland’s or out shopping.
    Kitty wondered whether Amanda wanted her company at the YWCA only to aggravate her family. Then she dismissed the thought as uncharitable. Stuck in her world of endless social commitments and obligations, Amanda needed a friend from outside her circle just as much as Kitty needed someone to talk to. She considered attending the introductory session to humor her, even though she had no intention of leaving the paper. Especially not at the moment.
    Damsel clopped down the turf in the dappled shade, and Kitty urged her to go faster. The horse’s speed matched Kitty’s galloping thoughts: Aimee Cole might have been a burlesque dancer who married above her station, but that didn’t make her a murderess. Still, the widow’s past would explain why others dismissed her. It would also explain why Mrs. Cole had seemed so worked up when she told Kitty that the police would pin the murder on someone convenient—after all, who would be more convenient than a dance-hall girl?

Chapter Eight
    â€œYour name, please, sir?” Prentiss, the photographer, said to Mr. Weeks.
    â€œJulian Conrad Weeks,”